Dearest Diary
by Dylan Lee Arwood
Summary: This was a grade 10 english project I did last year for Romeo and Juliet, it's a few diary entries by Romeo. I decided to post it in case someone might enjoy it. R
1. Chapter 1

_July 8th 1484_

DEAREST DIARY,

Were it yesterday, I might have said that the world is a dark and gloomy place, but today, today I say it is beautiful in its fair sun-drenched splendor, with only the slightest suggestion of a storm on the horizon. This sudden change is by no means attributed to the weather, but rather credited to the love that bloomed this night at the mere sight of a fair maiden at the Capulet house. Perhaps had I had the foresight to see past Rosaline to what the stars had in store for me, I would not have made such a fool of myself over her; for I was a fool to call that which I felt for Rosaline love. That which fades in the sun instead of flourishing like a flower like one would suppose. That which draws one to the company of shadows and makes us enemies with the sunlit day. That, which excludes the fair maiden I met during that fated fete. Perhaps I should explain.

For the past few weeks, I had been infatuated with this Rosaline. My friends and parents worried themselves over my distraction and the nocturnal habits which I developed in the face of what I truly believed was the despair and agony which clenches the heart in unrequited love. They were concerned over my health for I paced like one doomed and lost in the miserable loneliness of the fathomless dark, with only the mocking stars for company. Then, oh blessed astrological beauties, they sent a servant across my path, with an invitation to a party to be held at the house of my sworn enemy, whom it was my birthright to detest without reason but their own inherited legacy of this feud. My friends took me to that celebration in guise, so that I may see that there are others in the world besides Rosaline, so that I may be cured. And no sooner did I reach convalesce than I fell ill once more, with a beauty that far outshines that lackluster and earthly prettiness of Rosaline and that chased the shallow surface love from my heart and mind. This love plunges far deeper and I feel will not be so easily washed away by the wave of another. But I will not waste my time attempting to explain what it is to love deeply to an inanimate object like a diary, you will have to take my unwavering word for it, I love Juliet, more profoundly than my unskilled pen can depict with mere words, the skeletons of human emotions.

Her cheek is bright and rosy like the new sun as the morning breaks over yonder hill through the shadow and darkness of the night. Her eyes are like calm pools sparking and radiant as they reflect the glorious sunlight. And her lips, are red like rosebuds and soft against my unworthy mug when they embraces in a prayer to the heavens.

But, alas, the stars are defiant of any perfect happiness I felt, with the one bitter, biting drawback that they tossed into my sweet cup of brew as the fatal drop of poison, Juliet is a Capulet and I being a Montague am doomed to the twofold hatred of all who bear that name. Dare I go to see her? Dare I stay away and spend a murky life in solemn obedience? Nay, I shall go. Wish me luck, but not upon a star, for they are insolent. Goodnight.

ROMEO MONTAGUE


	2. Chapter 2

_July 9th 1484_

DEAREST DIARY,

Before, I could not sleep due to lonely longing and solitude, yet now, I can not sleep for sheer chilling rapture, for fear I would wake up to find it all a mere dream. But still, the bitterness of the impossible circumstances under which I have met my starry eyed, radiant lover reminds me that it is indeed reality, yet the reality is no consolation.

If heaven brings greater joy than this I can not know how, for I feel now that my happiness has reached it quotient and were life to become anymore blissful, I would simply overflow and the precious elixir of life would be spilt and wasted. Once, when I was young and overjoyed about some inconsequential thing, the Friar warned me that it does not do to be so happy, for sorrow will hit you like the plague once it inevitably comes and disturbs your delight with its encompassing shadow. But, then and now that advice does nothing for me, I can not think that there is any sorrow in this luminous world on this day when my love and I are wed.

It was the Friar himself who married us with only himself and god as our witness. I cannot believe that it was only two suns prior that I still believed myself to love Rosaline. Can it be that there was ever a time when I did not know and love Juliet? I think it not possible. Friar Laurence reprimanded me for my hearts fickleness. He told me that my love was not real; he claimed that I love Juliet for her beauty, not for herself as was the case with that detestable Rosaline, whose memory sparks ridicule and shame of my childish infatuation. But then, I would not expect Friar Lawrence to understand. After all, being a man of the church he has taken the vow of celibacy, and must be excused for his ignorance.

However, I went to him first thing this morning to ask him to marry myself and Juliet and he agreed, in hopes that this would end that feud between our two families. I no longer feel the hatred of that ancient grudge, whose purpose is unclear and forgotten, the flame of impulsive anger has burned, and all that remains is the charred anguish of its casualties. My fair lady said it best, "What's in a name? That which we call a rose by any other name would smell as sweet." She spoke the truth. If only the old and wise could be as sensible as the irrational youth. A Juliet by any other name would be as sweet, any other name but alas, Capulet.

My friends and family were worrying about me, that I was wasting my days away in darkness and solitude. But they ought to be worrying about themselves. I consider their hate filled lives empty and wasteful. I would rather live one love filled day with Juliet, then a million years, vacant within their poisonous hatred.

After I spoke to the Friar, I went to Mercutio and Benvolio, who still believe I am over the moon with Rosaline, and know nothing of how I am over the sun about Juliet. Soon my lady's Nurse arrived, seeking an answer for Juliet. I told her that we were to go to Friar Lawrence's cell that afternoon to be married. And so, Juliet came and we were wed. What happens now? I know not.

ROMEO MONTAGUE


	3. Chapter 3

_July 10th 1484_

DEAREST DIARY,

I can hardly write for my hand trembles so much with anger and with undercurrents of despair, but I will try to recount the horrible predicament the stars have laid before me. I think it might do some good to retell it, nobody has any sympathy for poor me and you can be very understanding dear diary.

I had made up my mind to love the Capulets, for now I am one of them I suppose. I found it in my heart to love Tybalt. How strong must my love for Juliet be that I could manage to swear to love a sworn enemy? But it matters not now, Tybalt is slain dead by my hand and sword and I have come to realize that we cannot love a person for their name alone, for the same reasons we cannot hate a body for their name alone.

It is a strange, strange thing that one heart can feel so much at one time and not self-destruct. But, it is a far stranger thing still that I can go on living, writing calmly and showing no outward signs of my inner turmoil. First and foremost, I am loving Juliet and then worrying for her. What will become of us once she hears of her cousin's death? Can she ever forgive me? And then there is this feeling of guilt. I do feel guilty and miserable at the thought of my anger ending a man's life and causing my love to grieve. Yet still, I am not sorry that I slew Tybalt, for there is hatred burning still in my heart along with that hatred's cause; an anguish and grievance over Mercutio's death. Finally, encompassing that raw emptiness that Mercutio's friendship filled in latter days is more remorse, to think that my interfering with the brawl between him and his killer may have caused the fatal blow to my dearest friend and ally. His final words haunt me still, "A plague on both your houses" he said, and I might have taken heed to those words and let Tybalt flee unscathed and unpunished. But, I did not listen and now I sit in the Friar's cell mourning, loving, worrying and hating, facing banishment from the only city I have ever known, fair Verona. If that were not enough, I face exile from a city which contains a love that is fairer still. Will I never see Juliet again?

Once again the Friar is unaware and uncomforting in this matter. He continues to claim that I have all the luck to be recipient of the Prince's pity, for he softens the previous death penalty for feuding in Verona and curses me instead with exile. Has he no mercy? It is better to show some compassion by sentencing death and end such misery rather than continue with the slow and painful torture that is banishment. When it comes to matters of fortune, I am rich in misfortune for it is once again my old foe the stars who decide upon luck and destiny. Friar may believe those cursed radiant demons are merciful, but I know that they lay out my sorrowful future with grins on their faces, knowing the long suffering that awaits me in solitary ostracism.

Oh how may I go on when all I know and love is lost in the havoc of quarrel? For all my anguish stems from that cursed, hateful feud that haunts every waking hour and every nightmare with its total unjustly entailing nature. That I should be the one to inherit such a grave misfortune! Oh that I might be some other name! Or that I might be dead and gone like Mercutio and Tybalt, free from such grim dooming kismet.

ROMEO MONTAGUE


	4. Chapter 4

_July 12th 1484_

DEAREST DIARY,

The past few days, since that destined meeting at the house of Capulet, have been a steady decline into the depths of sorrow on a wagon led by an insane and uncontrollable beast that may run off the road into a ditch at any moment. As I was driven into the pits of despair, the sun was slowly darkened by the onset of dark storm clouds which smothered its comforting cheer and I had naught but the thought of fair Juliet to comfort me. Now I have nothing and the world is pitch dark without her radiance. I know that that steed has driven me to the bottom and that I cannot go on living. My end is near and we shall be together once more in death.

The news of Juliet's death came today by mouth of Balthazar. Curse the stars, spiteful and mischievous stars. They know naught of what they play with when they fool with the hearts of men. Why those diabolic stars shine down from the heavens, residing among saints of goodness and selflessness and my lady Juliet, when they deserve to burn in the hells below for their evils against me, I can never guess. To think of them laughing and twinkling innocently as they planned for my peacemaking between Mercutio and Tybalt to be the stroke that killed both men, Juliet and ultimately myself. For Balthazar says that it is Juliet's grief over Tybalt that killed her, another blow to my already beaten conscience and soul.

I went immediately to a poor apothecary, who agreed to give me a dram of poison in exchange for gold. I entered Verona, now heedless of the law of the Prince, nothing will stand between I and death and my wife, so set and determined is my will in desperation to end this anguish. I came upon the family tomb of the Capulets, a place where no Montague should ever find himself, but I am fearless now in the face of death and no frivolous feud matters anymore. A man challenged me from the darkness and I slew him, but not without warning. I am sorry for his untimely death, but I will not be kept from Juliet, not on this night. I also seek solace, for he was County Paris, a man who would have married Juliet in my absence, and I can not find it in myself to have pity for him. And so, I entered the stone chamber, and bid adieu to the stars and their mockery. They would never look upon me again.

I write this from inside this tomb of doom, around me lay the newly dead. Tybalt slew by me, Juliet dead by Tybalt's death and Paris extinguished by my anxiousness to get to Juliet. I will leave this journal inside my vest pocket in hopes that hungry eyes will devour its contents and absorb its message. There is no room for love amidst hate. Useless, fruitless hate, the bane of all that is good and beautiful in this world. Is anyone the better for this hate? Tybalt, Mercutio, Juliet or woeful me? Who here is the winner? I fear that we all have lost in this feud for any gains can only be achieved by means of love. Though at least five lives would be saved, if I had the chance to go back and choose not to attend that party and never meet Juliet; I would not have it so. In this love I am fulfilled and I would be lost forever otherwise in a sea of hatred and malice. Beyond this love, if someone can look and see what might be learnt from this tale of woe, than it would further bring our acts to justice and make it obvious that I had not lived in vain.

I cannot imagine any end more desirable than lying here beside my love, and I can smile in death's dark eyes, for this is a peaceful joy and I pity anyone who cannot feel my eternal love. My sun has set, and she lays here eclipsed. I go to sleep with a smile upon my lips. And so, goodnight to ye.

ROMEO MONTAGUE


End file.
